


Luster Pop

by kasuutan



Category: Free!
Genre: Facials, M/M, Pet Names, boys in high heels and tiny skirts, boys in makeup, happy birthday mali, kitten wrecks from the bottom, lipstick blowjobs, pastel blowjobs are realized
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuutan/pseuds/kasuutan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He isn’t sure what it is- the big city life is getting Haru in all the right places, from the glint in his eyes to the growing thickness of his lashes.<br/>In which I realize the pastel blowjobs for Mali (aka d*ddy sparklecringe) because it's her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luster Pop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starsinew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinew/gifts).



Haruka Nanase is dangerous. He’s always been, since Makoto can remember. From when he was awkward and 14, when Makoto learned that yeah, maybe it’s a little bit weird to wake up with morning stiffies over vague blurs of blue and black. It got more detailed as they got older; there was a point where he could pretend it was Michiko from Home Ec, the fair skinned girl with long, wavy dark hair and robin blue eyes. That’s what he told himself for years, how he handled the guilt and relative weirdness of it all. But they both graduated, Michiko moved away for high school with her grandparents, and to Makoto’s adolescent confusion, the dreams didn’t stop. 

They actually got worse. 

It’s when he’s around 17, when his wandering imagination was at its full peak, that Makoto actually asked himself the question- Does Haru even KNOW what he looks like to other people? Is he even AWARE of how literally every turn of his head, every crane of his neck, and christ, even the way his long, delicate fingers wrap around his pencil when he writes, it’s all so absurdly beautiful Makoto wants to-

“Ah, fuck- Makoto, harder!” 

Wants to do exactly that. 

They’re in the kitchen this time, couldn’t even bother to make it to the bedroom when Makoto comes over after school for dinner. It’s completely and utterly Haru’s fault; he’s dangerous, remember? No one, literally no one, is prepared to walk into a kitchen to find Haruka Nanase stirring cake batter over the kitchen stove in nothing but a white, frilly apron.

It vaguely occurs to Makoto to wonder where Haru’s old apron is-the modest (Makoto wasn’t even aware aprons could be immodest) blue cooking apron with the cute dolphin on the front. 

It’s when Haru comes all over Makoto’s hand, the counter, and most of all, the apron, Makoto realizes the beloved blue apron is too precious to Haru to risk dirtying like this. 

The oven dings the minute Makoto spills himself over the edge of Haru’s rim, and he can feel him laughing beneath his arms. 

“It’s ready.” Haru says, turning around and taking Makoto’s hand and placing the fingers between his lips. “Wash your hands and get ready- dinner will be out in fifteen minutes”  
Haruka Nanase is completely and utterly dangerous, Makoto’s known this for ages. He just wonders how long it’ll take Haru to realize this himself. 

 

They say university is supposed to change you- awaken a new side of you, bless you with new experiences, become the prime of your adulthood. 

Makoto feels like he hasn’t changed whatsoever. 

Haru, on the otherhand…

Every day, every minute, Makoto swears up and down that Tokyo is definitely making some sort of Change in the boy. He isn’t sure what it is- the big city life is getting Haru in all the right places, from the glint in his eyes to the growing thickness of his lashes. 

It starts relatively simple. 

“Haru, what are you doing?” Makoto asks, leaning against the bathroom doorframe one morning, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Oh. Mascara.” 

“Huh?” Haru shrugs.

“Dunno. It looked interesting. ” He swipes the wand from the roots of his lashes up, blinking once, twice, before doing it again. 

“Mkay.” Makoto doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t really understand makeup, doesn’t see what some black stuff in a bottle on a tiny little brush is going to change in Haru’s face. But he also said that about the high heels and the lace stockings, so he just goes with it. 

He watches as Haru leans in closer to the mirror, raising the wand again to his other eye. Makoto feels a smile playing at his lips; somehow, this suits him. He’s not sure how or why, but something about Haru’s recent play on gender-whatever feels right. 

“Does it look any different?” Makoto looks up, and he’s looking back into big, owlish eyes cupped in thick sooty lashes. 

“A little bit.” Makoto steps forward, crossing the cold bathroom tile to Haru. 

“Weird?” Makoto shakes his head, pressing a hand to Haru’s cheek. It’s endearing, the little bit of self-consciousness that trickles out in droplets, probably only something Makoto’s allowed to see. Which is ironic, because Makoto knows there’s nothing Haru has to be self-conscious about. 

“Do you like it?” Haru’s tilting his head, doing that awful awful awful coy thing that drives Makoto up the wall and back. He’s completely sure Haru has no idea what it does to him, how cute it is, and how fucked up it is that because it’s so cute he just wants to-

“I like you any way, you know that.”  
Haru rolls his eyes, drawn out and dramatic underneath inch long lashes. 

“Stupid.”

Makoto’s heard that people hate it when their mascara runs. He learns today, dark smears in the hollows of Haru’s eyes and on their pristine white bedsheets, it’s not as empirically terrible of a look as people let on. 

 

Makoto’s gotten used to a lot of things. He’s gotten used to the thick, dark lashes and charcoal pencil smears underneath Haru’s eyes. He’s gotten used to the perfectly manicured nails, dangerously long and reflecting shades of blue and deep purple in the sunlight. He’s even gotten used to the change in wardrobe, the platform heels that almost make Haru as tall as himself, paired with the little skirts that hug his hips and thighs before bleeding into endless bowed legs. 

Makoto never thought he’d be grateful for Haru’s mid-university crisis, coming home one day to Haru buried beneath 4 layers of sheets to hide puffy eyes and tear stained pillows. He thinks back to everything from that night, the hours it takes for Haru to even string together the right words to say “this isn’t what’s right for me” and “I need to do something that isn’t this”. 

He’d resigned from the swim team the following day, Makoto’s fingers between his as he explains to his coach what he’d spent hours upon hours trying to explain to Makoto the night before. They sat in the counseling center together, and Haru walks out with a new major plan, a new set of classes for his next semester, and an ounce of new found relief. 

But now, as Haru leans over the bathroom counter dabbing something onto his lips, Makoto’s sure that everything that’s happened has lead to them both to ending up here. And if “here” means paint splatters on Haru’s cheeks and charcoal smudges on the tips of his fingers, if “here” means heavy eyelids powdered over in shimmers that light up every facet of Haru’s eyes, then Makoto thinks that it was worth the wait. 

So yeah, Makoto’s gotten used to the way everything’s changed. Haru’s replaced ever-present jammers with a set of acrylics and dark lined eyes framed in a fan of lashes. Of course, not everything is different- their water bill is astronomically high, as always. Makoto’s lost count of the amount of small fits Haru’s thrown over the course of the winter, what with their apartment complex’s pool closed for the season. Haru is still Haru, and because he is still Haru, one thing especially remains the same. 

Haruka Nanase is still completely dangerous.  
There is one thing Makoto has still not gotten used to. 

Makoto’s sitting on the couch, computer warming his lap, when it first Happens. He hears Haru crossing the apartment, heels clacking against the hard floors. Makoto’s grown used to the clicking of Haru’s shoes against the wood, but there’s something about it today that seems- 

He closes the lid of his computer and looks up. There’s Haru, leaning canvases against the wall near the window. There’s nothing particularly fetching about this, the apartment is completely littered with drying paintings. What catches Makoto’s attention is not Haru’s paintings, but it’s what Haru’s doing. 

Makoto swallows. Hard. 

It’s Haru’s (and also Makoto’s, secretly) favorite skirt, the shimmery blue one printed with scales. The fabric clings to his hips, hugs his thighs like they’re part of his skin, and it’s so much to handle that Makoto wants to be terrible and not let him outside with it on. 

But, even this alone isn’t different enough for Makoto to warrant dropping everything just to stare. 

Haru bends down more, getting closer to scrutinize one of the canvases. Makoto gets an eyeful of perfectly arced spine and bare thighs he’d like to have pressed up against his shoulders. 

Again though, this still isn’t different enough to be considered dangerous territory. 

It’s when Haru turns around that Makoto knows he’s fucked. 

“You’re staring.” It takes Makoto a full three seconds to realize he’s being spoken to.

“Huh?” is his intelligible response. He has zero idea what Haru’s just said, because he’s too focused on the movement of his lips, pursing and popping while all smeared in-

“I said you’re staring.” Pastel blue lipstick. Pastel blue lipstick coats the plush of Haru’s dainty lips, all pouty and parted just the tiniest bit. 

“Sorry.” Makoto doesn’t lie very often, but he knows immediately that this is a fucking lie. “It’s hard not to.” 

“Hm.” Haru pops his lips and tilts his head to the side, like he’s contemplating something potentially life ending for Makoto. He takes deliberately slow steps towards the couch, and Makoto pushes his computer off of his lap, hoping that’s invitation enough. 

“So. This is new.” Haru’s slid into his lap, knees on either side of Makoto’s thighs. Makoto runs a thumb over the contours of Haru’s cheeks, strokes down the side of his jaw and circles over the bottom lip. He smears a little with the tip of his finger, edge feathering off the side of his mouth, and that, the imperfection of it all, sends the slightest shiver up Makoto’s spine. 

“Yeah. Friend in class bought it for me. Said I could have it as long as I tried one thing and told them how it went.” Haru nips at the tip of Makoto’s thumb, tongue darting out to tease. 

“Hmm, so what’s that?” He slips an arm to loop around Haru’s back, hand smoothing down the knobs of his spine. Haru just shrugs, arching forward so his chest is flush against Makoto’s front. He looks positively bored, like he’s telling Makoto he doesn’t have time for this heavy petting. 

Haru dips his head into the crook of Makoto’s neck, hot breaths ghosting against tingling skin. He feels the press of soft lips behind the back of his ear, slightly sticky with the lipstick that makes Makoto want to-

“Haru…” A hand claws at the terrible skin-tight fabric of Haru’s skirt, wrinkling beneath his fingers as hips grind down onto his lap. 

“What?” Haru lifts his head and looks down at him, expression blank and unmoving. It makes Makoto’s lips curl, curl into an uncharacteristic smirk that one could consider devious. 

There’s something about the two of them, Makoto’s noticed, something about them together that brings out the worst (or best) in each other. 

“Weren’t you going to try something?” Makoto asks, tilting Haru’s chin up to nip at the skin beneath his jawbone.

“Not if you’re impatient.” He can feel the hum of Haru’s throat against his lips as he speaks, can feel it against his tongue as he trails it up the flawless pale skin of Haru’s neck. It’s too flawless, unblemished and unmarked, and it makes Makoto want to-

“Hey. No.” There’s a hand fisting in his hair, yanking his head back and craning his neck up. He’s met with sharp eyes that could cut Makoto straight open. He licks his lips because suddenly, his mouth feels very, very dry. 

“I said you won’t get anything if you’re impatient.” Haru clicks his tongue and leans forward, cold blue lips brushing madly against Makoto’s. “So stay put.” 

It’s an addicting feeling, the stickiness of the lipstick smearing across Makoto’s mouth. It tastes a little floral, and he can feel it getting on his teeth as Haru presses forward, drawing Makoto’s lower lip into a bite. 

“Nnngh…” Makoto groans, because the hips are still rolling, the fingers in his hair are still pulling, and the icy lips above his mouth are still teasing. “Haru, come on…”

“Come on what?” Haru breaths against his mouth, emphasizing it with deliberately long, slow, and hard grind of his hips. He pulls back, tiny smirk dancing across those terribly dangerous lips. 

“That’s a good look for you.” Haru says, pressing a thumb against Makoto’s mouth, collecting the little smears of blue feathered all across his lips. Makoto watches as Haru’s eyes rake down, like he’s trying to memorize every disheveled wrinkle in his clothes for a future painting. 

“Though, it might look better somewhere else.” 

“Huh?” It’s all Makoto manages to get out before Haru’s slipping of his lap, curling his legs beneath him and kneeling against the hard, cold wood floor. 

“Oh god, f-” He watches as purple-blue nails pull down the zipper of his jeans, watches as dainty fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers and slides them down. His cock springs forward, embarrassingly hard and dripping from barely anything. Makoto blames Haru, blames the sharp black heels, the tiny blue skirt, the icy pastel lipstick. It all comes together in one, dangerous mess that is Haruka Nanase. 

He wants to look away, look up at the ceiling because everything going on below him is too-

“Look at me.” Fucking. 

So Makoto looks, watches as pretty manicured nails wrap around base of his dick, stroking hard and slow. Precum drips down from the head, coats Haru’s fingers in sticky white that blends with the blues and purples of his nails. It’s too fucking much, Makoto doesn’t understand how it can actually get any more-

“Oh god, oh fucking dear god-”

More dangerous. 

Makoto watches as delicate blue lips split open, wrapping around the head of his cock in a perfect pastel “O”. It smears along the shaft as Haru sinks his mouth lower, eyes fluttering shut. Long, dark lashes kiss his cheekbones, shimmering blue shadow matching the pastel lipstick smudges all along Makoto’s dick. 

He can’t help it, can’t just sit back and watch as Haru sinks his amazingly dangerous pastel mouth deeper and deeper onto his dick. Makoto reaches forward and threads his fingers through Haru’s hair, tugging on the strands a the nape of his neck. 

“That’s a good look for you.” he says, pushing Haru’s head down further until his nose is pressing up against the base. “It suits you, look at you pretty boy-” There’s a whine from below and Makoto chuckles because Haru is so predictable. 

Big, wet blue eyes flutter open, tears of arousal beading at the corners. Haru blinks and they fall, smearing mascara along his cheeks. 

Makoto takes it in, the running mascara, the pastel lips wrapped tight and smearing lipstick all up his cock, it’s so much, too much, and when Haru locks those dangerous sharp eyes on his, when Haru presses him all the way to the back of his throat and chokes, and when Haru practically cries because Makoto knows exactly how much he loves the feeling of choking, it’s almost enough to-

The manicured nails are back again, long fingers wrapping right around Makoto’s base, hard, painful, and absolutely merciless. 

This time, it’s Makoto who wants to cry, as Haru pulls back with a lewd wet pop, precum beading on his plush blue lips like it’s part of the aesthetic. It’s smeared all over his mouth, haphazard and so perfectly messy. 

Makoto yanks him forward, flipping him down onto the couch with his ass raised in the air. 

Haru laughs beneath him, shoulders rising and body shaking. 

“What’s wrong?” he has the gall to ask, turning his head to peer over his shoulder, cum stained lips curling up in the most dangerous smirk Makoto has ever seen. 

“You.” Is all Makoto has to say, peeling himself out of his shirt and shoving Haru’s skirt over his thighs and up his ass. He’s not even phased by the lace at this point, because at this point that’s something he’s gotten used to, just pulls the thong off to the side. Makoto reaches over to the base of the coffee table, rummaging blindly in the drawers. 

It says something that they keep lube tucked into the coffee table, says something that this happens so often, they’ve gotten tired of having to pause to trek all the way to the bedroom to get what they need.

Makoto pops the cap open and coats his fingers, Haru whining something beneath him that sounds suspiciously like “hurry up.” 

“Shh, baby. I know.” Makoto watches as his finger’s sucked in, familiar and tight all the way around. Haru sighs, head falling into the cushions as he arches down further, ass straight up and ready. 

There’s very little mercy at this point, because Makoto’s pent up to the point of being in pain. He plunges in two fingers, and two becomes three, and three turns Haru into a squirming mess, especially when those three fingers curl just the right way and press hard, hard, hard that Haru’s wailing into the couch. 

“Come on!” he practically cries as Makoto’s fingers slip out. He gives himself a minute to survey his work, rim all pink and sticky and wet. 

“Patient, kitten, patient.” 

Is what Makoto tries to say, tries to get Haru to listen, but Haru’s the worst at listening. 

Makoto is large, everyone knows that, all muscle and all back, but what tends to be forgotten is that Haru’s the trained athlete. 

It takes no time for Haru to turn himself around, flatten Makoto back against the couch and sink himself straight down onto Makoto’s cock, tight all the way to the base. 

“Oh my god.” Makoto groans, head hanging over the arm of the couch as his eyes roll into the back of his head because fucking.

“What were you saying about being patient again?” Haru asks, head tilted to the side as he lifts himself up, sinks back down, and grinds his hips in little tight circles. 

“Nothing, nothing.” Makoto pants, strong hands finding purchase on the sharp bones of Haru’s hips. 

“That’s what I thought.” Haru drags his long, sharp nails down Makoto’s chest, just hard enough to make him shiver. “So, be good and let kitten do the work, okay?” 

Makoto can’t even think of a single coherent word at this point, so he just moans, loud and guttural from the back of his throat. He watches with wide eyes, watches those slim hips roll in a way that’s impossibly hypnotic, watches as that impossibly pretty pink cock bounces up against his stomach and leaves a little trail of precum right above his navel. 

He listens to Haru moan, finding just the right angle to press down harder, listens to Haru chant his name like it’s his evening prayer. He feels Haru’s nails dig into his chest, leaving little crescent shaped marks that’ll last for days. 

And most of all, he sees Haru’s face unwind, pretty blue lips wrapping around little whines that get higher, louder, throatier with each thrust. He sees all the resolve slip away, that front of indifference, petulance, danger. He sees it all melt off his face as he gets closer, closer, winds tighter, tighter, asks faster, faster until-

“Makoto! I-I’m- fuck-!”

“Yeah, that’s it, come on, do it for me-”

Haru falls forward, head catching in the crook of Makoto’s neck. He comes right into Makoto’s ear, high with a voice so so pretty and perfect. 

Haru is completely boneless, limp against Makoto’s chest. 

“You’re still hard.” is his observation as Makoto lays there, petting his hair. Makoto laughs, just the slightest bit strained. 

“Ah, yeah…I’m a bit surprised too-”

He stops when Haru lifts himself off, soft moan when he’s completely out, and crawls down Makoto’s lap to crouch between his thighs. 

“What are you-”

Fingers wrap around his straining hard cock.

“Come on me.”  
Haru stares straight at him, with those dangerous blue eyes that can cut through anything. Makoto thinks about all the dreams he’s had, all the flits of Haru, Haru, Haru that have floated through his mind since he was just this awkward kid wondering shit, am I gay? 

All the dreams he’s had, all the things he’s thought about, and nothing comes close to-

“Oh, fuck, Haru- don’t! I’m gonna-“  
“Do it, do it for me, Makoto.”

It splatters up onto Haru’s fingers, drips down his arm and stains the couch. It shoots up onto his cheeks, over his nose, and onto his lips, milky white blending with the icy smeared up blue of his lipstick. 

Makoto blinks. 

It’s almost enough to get him hard again. 

Haru licks his lips, smacks them together with a wet pop. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and laps at his fingers to clean himself off. Makoto’s brows furrow together at how positively feline this entire act looks, how weirdly adorable and how strangely erotic it is at the same time. 

“So. Um. What exactly were you testing again?” Haru looks up, side of his hand pressed to his lips. 

“Oh. To see if this lipstick was smudge proof. It’s not, by the way.”

“And you had to test it like this…?” Haru shrugs.

“Don’t complain.” Haru leans forward, chests flushed together. Makoto reaches up and pets through his hair as Haru’s eyes slide closed. 

“Besides, I have to try some glitter next time.” 

“What?!” 

Haruka Nanase is dangerous, and Makoto’s 100% sure he knows that now. 


End file.
